


show me your scars

by bloodquill



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face-Sitting, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:27:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodquill/pseuds/bloodquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They worked out a system. </p><p>It's simple really, almost stupidly so. Thomas sends Hamilton a text, something short and cryptic that couldn't be distinguished from the hundreds of anger fueled texts he sent the man in the past. And without fail, when he inevitably shows up at their doorstep, Eliza and Alexander greet him with hungry kisses and insistent pushes in the direction of their bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>A collection of ham & cheese one shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. down for the count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Thomas was sober, he would have left, would have gone home to drink away his sorrows alone, but Thomas was anything but sober, and the Hamiltons company seemed all too agreeable than the alternative of his silent apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first fic I'm publishing ever and actively trying to finish so I'm sorry if the characters feel iffy I'm trying I swear. anyways, the chapters themselves will revolve around different events in our trio's life
> 
> don't be afraid to kudos or comment I love feedback. 
> 
> title is from "Sandcastles" by Beyoncé

Thomas nursed the bottle of beer in his hand, throat still burning from the last shot. The alcohol dulled his senses pleasantly, the hanging lights overhead swinging back and forth to create a mirage of colors and shapes he knew wasn't there. A couple's gaze landed on him, and he sunk lower in his heat to avoid their questioning glances. He didn't need their judgement nor their pity. 

With a single gulp, Thomas finished the remainder of his beer and gestured to the bartender for another Sam Adams. The rational, still sober part of his brain screamed at him to go back home to the comfort his apartment before he made a fool of himself for everyone to see - Thomas could already hear Von Steuben, Washington's Chief of Staff, obnoxiously berating him as his minions chittered around them. 

"Jefferson?" Thomas clenched his eyes shut, willing the voice to go away. He knew that voice, heard it daily, and that was _more_ than enough for him.

To his disappointment, when he opened his eyes, Hamilton stood looming over him with an arched brow, staring at him in a mixture of disdain and pity. For a moment, Thomas didn't recognize Eliza, who looked far more casual than he ever seen her, standing near Hamilton. The outfit suited her, making her appear kinder than the well crafted facade she put on during state dinners. 

"Hamilton," Thomas sneered, or attempted to. Eliza's answering frown said that he failed. "What are you doing here?"

"Betsy and I are on date night," Hamilton answered, glancing over at Eliza, whose face twisted into an unreadable expression. There was strange, strained air surrounding them, something that Thomas couldn't quite place. "Philip and Angie are at camp upstate for the summer." 

Thomas hummed, monotone, while he took a swing of his beer. Eliza's eyes followed his movements, the frown on her face deepening. Thomas' brows rose challengingly at her silent disapproval. "Thomas, are you drunk?" She asked, putting a careful hand on his bicep.

"'m fine," Thomas said, patting her hand. Hamilton rolled his eyes and snatched the bottle from his grasp in one swift movement. 

"Go home, Jefferson," Hamilton ordered with a shake of his head. "I'll call you a cab, and you can sleep it off."

"Give it back," he pouted, hands outstretched. Even to his ears he sounds needy and childish, but at that moment he could not care less. With a strength surpassing a woman her size, Eliza forced his hands back to his side. Thomas' gaze moved between the two Hamiltons, and an aggravated sigh escaped his lips when he realized he wasn't getting his drink back. 

Thomas ordered a shot of whiskey the moment Eliza let him go and plucked the glass from bartender's hands. His lips curved into a self-satisfied grin at the familiar expression of irritation on Hamilton's face, but it was swiftly wiped away by the warning look Eliza sent him. 

Hamilton took the empty seat in front of him, and Eliza sat on his right. He didn't question the seating arrangement although he could practically feel Hamilton's shoulder hunch downwards in disappointment. A tense silence blanketed the trio for a second as Thomas took a gulp of whiskey, the feeling of the alcohol clouding his senses just a little bit more.

If Thomas was sober, he would have left, would have gone home to drink away his sorrows alone, but Thomas was anything but sober, and the Hamiltons company seemed all too agreeable than the alternative of his silent apartment

Astonishingly, it wasn't very hard to start conversation with both Hamiltons when they're all equally tipsy. Thomas was quick to laugh and even quicker to speak, but there was a short tug in his chest that was holding him back, leaving a bittersweet taste in the back of his throat. The feeling lingered, consumed him whole. 

"I miss Martha," he slurred when there was a lull in the conversation. His heart felt funny at the declaration, like it squeezed and cramped inside his ribcage. Thomas clutched the shot glass closer to his chest as if it would offer him comfort. "I loved — _love_ — her, but she's not here anymore. Sometimes it's hard, y'know?"

Hamilton's gaze turned to the floor, and something in the way his lips pursed together spoke volumes to him. 

Eliza made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, and leaned closer to Thomas, whose eyes widened imperceptibly. "Martha was a lucky woman," Eliza muttered. 

Thomas let out a shaky breath when his eyes connect with Eliza's. Her eyes are slightly hooded, dark and smothering, and too close for propriety's sake. Her gaze flitted to the side before landing on him again, but Thomas' eyes was glued to her lips, at the tiny glimpse of her tongue peeking out between her teeth. He doesn't know who moved first, all he knew was that the silence stretched out for too long and that Eliza looked downright _filthy_ staring at him from under long lashes and—

Eliza's lips were both soft and rough on his, a contradiction and a paradox intertwined to form something entirely intoxicating. It was nothing like Martha kissed him, all sweet and chaste, but Thomas lost himself in the way her lips moved against his anyway, temporarily delirious as the pain in his chest lessened and he finally _breathed_ again. 

Somehow, his hands found themselves on her hips, pressing her flush against his body, while Eliza nipped at Thomas' lips. Thomas relished in the harsh way Eliza tugged on his hair, not quite whimpering at the sensation but a strangled groan escaped his throat without his permission nonetheless, hips bucking upwards in search of friction. Eliza was unforgiving in her advances, taking more than giving, but that only served to spur him on. 

And just as the kiss started, it was over. Eliza's eyes were on him again, gazing at him with something akin to hunger. Thomas swallowed thickly against the sudden tightness in his throat, very much willing to oblige when the sound of needy whine broke him out of his reverie. 

Hamilton gaze switched from him and his wife with a mix of shock and . . . lust? Thomas licked his lips, fighting the onslaught of images that flooded his mind. 

(Not that he ever thought about kissing Hamilton of all things. Of course not, he never thought about how soft the Secretary's lips would feel against his as he—)

"Our house is nearby," Eliza breathed into his ear. _An invitation._ A faint tremor ran down his spine at the thought. Thomas' eyes were still on Hamilton, locked into a heated exchange that spoke of promise. Heat pooled in his stomach, cock already standing at half mast in his slacks. _Fuck._

"After you, Mrs. Hamilton," Thomas said with an arrogant grin, voice dripping with desire, sliding after Eliza in one fluid movement. Hamilton stayed rooted on his seat, hand clamped around his forgotten beer, but Eliza's hand reached down to cup his cheek, perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft flesh. Thomas watched, transfixed on the way Hamilton's breathing stuttered and eyes closed for a moment before snapping open to focus on Eliza. 

_"Alexander,"_ Eliza said neatly, leaving no room for argument. There were little indents forming on Hamilton's skin where Eliza's nails dug in a little too sharply. "We're leaving." 

Hamilton stood up on shaky legs, nearly falling forward when he tried to take a step. Eliza shot him a pointed look, which had Hamilton obediently following after them as they exited the bar and braved the D.C. weather. He was impressed — he never seen the man as quiet or compliant. 

Thomas didn't waste any time, pouncing on Hamilton the moment they were inside the privacy of their home. Hamilton's lips were chapped against his, warm and frantic, as Thomas pried his mouth open, kissing him hard and hungry and sloppy. 

He stepped forward, pinning the other man against the unforgiving wall, hands lying possessively on the small of his back. Hamilton let out a whimper at the loss of Thomas' lips against his, but Thomas mouthed the golden expanse of skin on his neck and exposed collarbones, leaving a trail of fresh bruises in his wake. With nimble fingers, Thomas worked the buttons on Hamilton's shirt until it was off his shoulders and on the ground in a heap. Thomas was sharply reminded of Hamilton's time in the army as his fingers traced over the small, raised scars littering his chest. 

"Thomas," Hamilton pleaded with a guttural moan, head falling against the wall while Thomas fell to his knees and unzipped his fly. "Please, please, _please."_

"What do you want, Hamilton?" he drawled, voice husky in a way that suggested he knew the answer, pushing the other man's pants down his hips and kissing at the thick outline of his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Thomas glanced up at Hamilton with an innocent flutter of his lashes. 

"Fuck," Hamilton whined. His thighs were trembling, squirming with the need to move. Thomas pulled down Hamilton's boxers with a roguish smile, hand already going to stroke the length teasingly. _"Please._ Your mouth . . . I want your mouth." 

Hamilton let out a strangled noise as Thomas licked a stripe on the underside of his cock, lapping at the tiny drops leaking out the slit, before swirling his tongue around the head. 

"Jesus, Jefferson," Hamilton said, chest falling and rising in time with his heavy pants. Unruly strands of dark hair fell out his bun, sticking to his flushed face. Thomas thought he never looked more attractive. "Who knew you were so good at this?"

Thomas smirked up at him, and without a word of warning, he sank down on the length, wrapping a hand around the part where he couldn't quite reach and bobbing around his cock rhythmically. Alexander desperately jerked forward in an attempt to fuck his mouth, groaning when the head of his dick reached the back of Thomas' throat. 

Thomas pulled away from Alexander with a sharp gasp, glaring up at the man, who cried out at the loss of contact. "You move again, and I'll leave you hard and wanting on the wall," he threatened, his lips ghosting over Alexander's cock. Thomas grinned wickedly as he heard Alexander's breath hitch, eyes glazing over as nodded frantically. "Good boy." 

The response from Alexander was immediate. His cock twitched against his belly, and he shuddered, knees buckling with the effort of staying upright. Thomas took the chance to swallow around Alexander's cock again, hollowing his cheeks and licking over the underside with practiced ease. 

"Don't let him come." 

Thomas nearly bit down in surprise, glancing at Eliza, who was dressed in a silk robe and was looking down at him with a pleased expression. Thomas moaned around Alexander's length as she carded her fingers through his thick curls and pushed his head forward and backward in a punishing pace. Alexander watched them wide-eyed, completely still per Thomas' order, moans reaching a fever pitch—

"No, I've been _good,_ please. Don't—" Alexander blabbered, cock hard and straining, smacking against his stomach as Eliza tugged Thomas off him completely. Thomas flexed his sore jaw, opening and closing it in quick succession, breaking the string of spit suspended between his swollen lips and the tip of Alexander's cock. 

Alexander's teeth gritted together, muscles spasming and contracting, hips thrusting up to empty air. Eliza watched impassively, holding out a hand for Thomas to take. He stood up, feeling a smug smirk tug on his lips at the utterly _wrecked_ expression on Alexander's face. 

"Don't you dare come, Alexander," Eliza snapped, eyes flashing dangerously, when she saw Alexander's eyes clench shut, teeth digging into his lip. 

"I-I'm trying, _Eliza—"_

"Ma'am," she corrected. Thomas took a peek at Eliza, dick twitching in his trousers. 

"I want to—Ma'am, please—" 

"Do you think you deserve to come, Alexander?" Eliza asked, and the question was innocent enough, but Thomas could hear the undertone of something in her voice he couldn't place. Alexander hung his head, and were those _tears_ in his eyes? 

"No, Ma'am." 

There was a pause where Eliza's hand outstretched as if to comfort Alexander before it fell back to her side. "Color?" she asked, her tone lowering to a near whisper. 

Alexander breathed in heavily through his mouth, body still trembling. "Green."

Thomas stood dumbly between the two Hamiltons at a lost about what to do. Eliza, as if sensing his predicament, grasped his palm in her own and squeezing it lightly in reassurance. 

"Upstairs" she ordered. Thomas followed her happily, mouthing eagerly at the skin of her throat as they stumbled into the bedroom. 

Alexander barely managed to turn on the lights before Eliza was pushing Thomas onto the mattress and discarding her robe in one fluid movement. She kissed him with a hunger he hadn't expected — all passion and fury and heat. Thomas made a noise of protest as she tore at his clothes because _this is an expensive, tailored suit thank you very much,_ but Eliza ignored him, throwing his pants somewhere in the corner of the room. The bed sunk on the his side, and he hissed as his boxers were pulled off his lips, the cool air hit his aching erection.

Teeth and tongues and hands lavished his skin, tracing every line and plane on his body until Thomas was a writhing mess underneath them. Through the haze of pleasure, he felt Eliza ease forward and straddle his face, rubbing herself against his face. Thomas spread her folds with his thumbs, messily licking over her slit with broad strokes and flicking his to tongue against her clit until Eliza was letting out wanton moans above him, grinding into his face with quivering thighs.

Thomas breathed in deeply, burying his face against the dark patch of curls framing Eliza's flushed skin. He nipped at the skin of her inner thighs, leaving small, reddish marks and purposely avoiding Eliza's cunt, which was flushed dark red, swollen, and slick. 

"Thomas," Eliza warned, seizing his hair and in one forceful tug directing him back to where she wanted him. Thomas hummed, moving one hand to graze against her clit while pointing his tongue and fucking it into Eliza, his mouth and face becoming slick with her. 

Faintly, he heard the sound of whines and whimpers, the sound too male to be coming from Eliza. From the corner of his eye, he spied Alexander, whose hand was twisting around his cock in quick, rough strokes, gazing at them with wild desperation. 

"Hands off, Hamilton," Thomas commanded, voice muffled from underneath Eliza's thighs. Alexander complied with an anguished sob, curling his hands into fists on the sheets. Eliza slowed, running her fingers through Thomas' hair approvingly, to stare at Alexander, whose face flushed as he squirmed under the combined power of both their gazes. 

"Open yourself up for Thomas," Eliza told him breathily, rutting against his hand. Thomas whimpered, hips thrusting upwards at the images flashing through his head, the vibrations hitting Eliza _just_ right. Her thighs tensed around his head, movements becoming jerky as she searched for her release. "He's been good, he deserves a reward." 

Thomas wiggled as his tongue went back inside Eliza with a renewed fever. Eliza seemed unable to control herself any longer, whining and whimpering high pitched, fluttering and twitching and seizing around him with the strength of her orgasm. He didn't stop thrusting into her until Eliza was trembling and pushed herself away from him with a groan. 

"Thomas," she muttered once she caught her breath, bending over him to thread her fingers into his sweaty curls. "You've been so good for me." 

Thomas preened under her touch, lips curling up into a haughty grin. "Hamilton, should take notes and maybe—"

Eliza lips smashed on his before he could finish, uncaring if the taste of her release was heavy on Thomas' tongue. The taste was interesting, salty and heady but not altogether bad; her teeth bit at Thomas' bottom lip, pulling slightly. Thomas surged up, flipping her around so she was pressed against the mattress, his arousal poking at her thigh. Eliza reached out, grabbing the condom she left on her nightstand, opening the packaging and wrapping it around Thomas' dick. 

"Alexander is ready for you," she said, biting the sensitive skin of Thomas' neck and lapping at the marks she left with her tongue. "Go claim your reward."

Thomas growled deep in his throat, eyes landing hungrily on Alexander, who was staring at them from underneath his lashes. His hands were clasped behind his back as he kneeled on the end of the bed. From this angle, Eliza could see the dim light shining off the faint steaks of lube on his ass. 

Alexander squealed as Thomas pounced on him, pinning him down to the mattress. Thomas' hands were everywhere, biting and sucking his way down his body in a mad frenzy. Alexander could see the hungry gleam in other man's eyes like he was ready to devour him whole, the way he held him like he was expecting for Alexander to slip from underneath his fingertips, and—

"Fuck," Alexander breathed as Thomas pushed inside him, the warm drag of Thomas' cock brushing inside him at an antagonizing pace as he bottomed out. "Thomas, _God,_ please move."

"Do you ever shut up?" Thomas groaned, head falling into the crook of Alexander's neck and breathing in his scent. It was quiet for a moment, the sound of both men's heavy breathing echoing in room. Thomas kissed down his chest and the swell of his belly, soothingly caressing and mouthing at the skin, until Alexander relaxed under him. 

Alexander squirmed, hips rutting forwards in search of friction, but Thomas was unrelenting, holding his hips down in a bruising grip. Alexander moaned and cursed under his breath, running his blunt nails down Thomas' back in protest. "Goddamn, Jefferson, you little shit."

"Stay still," Thomas growled, hips finally moving into him with slow, shallow motions. Eliza touched herself lazily, eyes bright, as she fixated on the movement of Thomas' hips against his, the needy moans that Alexander let out with every thrust. Alexander's legs wrapped around Thomas' waist, willing the man to move faster, to— 

And than Thomas was hitting _that_ spot inside him, and Alexander could see stars behind his closed eyelids as he clenched down reflexively, drawing a hiss from Thomas.

"Oh, Thomas—I-I need to—" Alexander gasped, hand going down to stroke himself while Thomas finally sped up. Suddenly, Eliza was on him, palms clenching around both of his wrists and pressing them hard upwards against the bed frame.

"That's cheating, Alexander," Eliza cooed with a wicked smile. Alexander struggled, sobbing and becoming impossibly tense when he realized he was stuck and there was no escaping her grasp. "Thomas said no touching, remember?" 

Thomas ignored Alexander's pleas— _Jefferson, more please, fuck_ —moving at an unforgiving pace as the pressure in his abdomen grew hotter. His hips stuttered once, twice, and with a broken moan and Alexander's name slipping from his lips like a prayer, Thomas spilled inside the condom, everything becoming white hot and fuzzy with the force of his orgasm. 

Eliza coaxed him to the side as he pulled out of Alexander and tied the condom, standing up with wobbly legs to throw it in a bin across the room. Alexander was shuddering when he got spun around, hips desperately rocking into Eliza's closed fist. 

_"Betsy,"_ Alexander whimpered. "Ma'am, thank you. I—Oh, Christ—I'm so sorry, I love you, Betsy. _Please—"_

White spurts of come splash on Alexander's chest, his body arching into the air. Eliza milked him for everything he had, stroking his cock until Alexander was keening and pushing away from her weakly. 

There was a strange expression on Eliza's face, introspective and conflicted, as she glanced down at Alexander. A million words were said between them through subtle glances and soft touches. Eliza held out a hand for Alexander to hold hesitantly, a peace offering if he'd ever seen one. Thomas felt like he was intruding in a private moment. He forced his legs to move in the direction of their ensuite to give them a moment of privacy, retreating into the fluorescent lights and cool colors of their bathroom.

Distinctly, Thomas noted when he padded back into the room with a wet washcloth in hand, Alexander looked like a satisfied cat, sprawled out in the bed, practically purring as Eliza ran her hand through his disheveled hair. Alexander blinked up at Thomas while he cleaned up the mess on his chest, an unusually tender gleam in his eyes that made him squirm uncomfortably. 

"Stay," Alexander said, tugging on Thomas' arm when he came back from the bathroom and turned off the lights. Thomas hesitated, eyes flitting to Eliza, who nodded and made room in the bed so he could sleep between them. 

Thomas crawled back onto the bed stiffly, awkwardness washing over him as he settled between the two Hamiltons. Alexander grumbled under his breath, something about _stupid Republicans,_ before curling his body against Thomas', intertwining their legs underneath the covers. Eliza sighed heavily, smacking Alexander over the head as she moved to rest atop his chest.

Thomas sighed, gingerly letting himself relax in their embrace, effectively smothered between them. It was quiet, the silence stretching over them, but for the first time in years, the silence didn't overwhelm him. Thomas closed his eyes, letting the faint, rhythmic sounds of the Hamiltons' breathing lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was my first try at smut since forever??? idk how it went but I tried lmao. also alexander is v subby in this chapter but it just happened??? promise that won't always be the case tho 
> 
> updates might be sporadic depending on when inspiration strikes.
> 
> feel free to harass me at my trash™ blog [here](http://clintbartion.tumblr.com)


	2. nobody needs to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts got more explicit as Thomas read on, filled with empty promises of lust and reassurance. The words sounded hollow to his ears, foreign and stiff and lacking the finesse he knew Hamilton possessed.

They worked out a system. 

It's simple really, almost stupidly so. Thomas sends Hamilton a text, something short and cryptic that couldn't be distinguished from the hundreds of anger fueled texts he sent the man in the past. And without fail when he inevitably shows up at their doorstep, Eliza and Alexander greet him with hungry kisses and insistent pushes in the direction of their bedroom. 

Sometimes, when he's feeling too restless and itching for a fight, he argues with Alexander until his lungs feel like they're going to burst and Eliza, with a huff and a roll of her eyes, forces them into bed, where they promptly put Eliza between them so not to kill each other. 

Sometimes, when Martha's death hits him particularly hard, he lays there in bed with his head in Eliza's lap, her hand brushing his curls while Alexander latches onto to side, and they just let the silence wash over them. They don't talk about those days. 

They don't talk about many things. 

*

Thomas stifled a yawn, resisting the urge to stretch out and take a nap in the middle of Washington's cabinet meeting. He had to wake up early again, early enough that the sun just started to peak above the horizon, to sneak out the Hamilton's house before any reporter got a glimpse of him or risk the political backlash that would have came with fucking a man—and his wife—after he publicly declared him a menace. God knows that if any news outlet got a whiff of _that_ story both his and Alexander's political careers would be over in a heartbeat. 

"Secretary Jefferson, are we boring you?" Thomas straightened with a start, face flaming up in embarrassment as he meet the President's narrowed eyes. From his right right, he heard Alexander try to stifle a snicker. The sound made his face burn brighter. 

"My apologies, Mr. President," he amended. Washington shook his head, muttering something incoherent under his breath as he spun back around to James, who shot him a questioning look. Thomas shrugged him off with a lazy wave of the hand, face still hot. 

With James and Washington's attention off him and the thought of retaliation solely on his mind, Thomas' hand traveled up Alexander's thigh, rubbing and stroking the flesh. Alexander stiffened, mouth dropping open while he fisted the arms of his chair, much to his satisfaction. Thomas let his hand spread, fingertips just barely brushing the inside of Alexander's thigh as he pressed down against the dark marks he knew he'd left there. 

"Jefferson," Alexander hissed through gritted teeth, thighs trembling under Thomas' touch. "We're at work." 

Thomas made a chiding noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head to narrow the gap between them. To an outsider, they must have looked like they were in the middle of a particularly heated debate with the way Alexander's eyes burned into him, cheeks flushed, subtle and delicate, as a muscle in his jaw jumped.

"Your point?" Thomas drawled, hand working itself higher and higher, just shy of Alexander's crotch, lingering on the junction where his thighs met. Alexander hid his surprised yelp being a well timed cough and glared at him from under his lashes. "You have no problem laughing at me. I deserve a laugh too, don't I, Alexander?" 

"Fuck you," Alexander choked out, breath catching in his throat as Thomas cupped him through his slacks. 

Thomas' lips curled into an arrogant smirk, hand tightening around Alexander's cock. "See, this is absolutely hilarious." 

"You pompous prick, I'm going to tell Eliza, just you wait until she—"

"Hamilton, son, do you have something you want to say?" Washington interrupted, sighing in resignation when he got a glimpse at his Secretaries, like he was already expecting a fight to break between them. Thomas smiled at Alexander, saccharine and mean; his brows rose daringly in a way that he knew got a rise in Alexander. 

"No, sir," Alexander answered shakily. Thomas' fingers danced across his length, the touch both too rough and not nearly enough, in a rhythm Alexander couldn't decipher but had him yearning for more. Alexander's grip tightened on the chair, knuckles turning white with the sheer strength. 

Washington rubbed his temple and glanced at James apologetically. "This session is over for today. Gentlemen, I hope you'll both get yourselves together by then." 

Alexander flushed crimson, the blush on his cheeks spreading to cover his neck and ears. He glanced at Thomas, breathless and bright-eyed although Thomas still saw his underlying rage at being teased so publicly. Still, he bit back a whimper when Thomas removed his hand. 

"Come to my office in an hour," Thomas breathed, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, while everyone hurried to leave. "Behave, and I promise I'll consider letting you come." 

Alexander's eyes darkened, pupils blown so the warm, brown irises were nearly invisible, and his mouth parted, a small peek of pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Thomas ignored every fiber in his being that screamed at him to stay behind, to fuck Alexander against the table, screw the consequences, but from the corner of his eyes, he saw James waiting for him patiently at the doorway. 

Thomas stood up, towering over Alexander, and offered the man a smirk as he walked away, James trailing after him out the room. A smug smile pulled on his lips, lighting up his face. The fact that he left Alexander hard and wanting in the middle of a cabinet meeting more than made up for the nights of exhaustion. 

"Thomas, do you feel well?" James asked, coughing into his handkerchief. Thomas beamed, adjusting the lapels on his burgundy suit so the golden buttons gleamed brightly in contrast with the deep red. 

"I'm just peachy, Jemmy," Thomas replied. James shot him a calculating look before stopping short in the middle of the hallway and putting a hand on his arm, tugging him down the hallways into a small alcove. 

"Are you—" James started, eyes flickering around them for prying ears. There were a group of interns at the end of the hall who eyed them oddly, but otherwise they were alone. "Are you and Sally—"

Thomas choked, eyes widened almost comically. "No, I-I—We've been done for months now." 

James snorted in disbelief, brow raised in a way that suggested that he didn't believe a word he said, not that he faulted James for it. His relationship, if he went as far to call it that, with Sally was unhealthy at best, toxic and a means of convenience for both parties involved. Sally called it off the moment she saw it for what it was; she hadn't look back since. 

"Jefferson! Jefferson, I have—" Thomas looked upwards, spotting Monroe sprinting towards them, grinning widely. Monroe skid to a stop at the irritated glare he received from James. "I can speak to you later if you're busy," he amended, palms outstretched in surrender and lips stretching into a frown. 

"We can talk now," Thomas said before the other man could stop him. He felt James' gaze on his retreating back, the disappointment rolling off him in waves. He ignored the bitter taste it left in his mouth and followed after the simpering Monroe silently. 

Monroe's office was disheveled, papers and notes cramming every available surface, but somehow the man navigated the mess easily while he searched around in one of the stacks of papers on his desk. Thomas sneered in distaste, sitting down and eyeing Monroe, fingers tapping on his armrest in an increasingly impatient tempo. 

"Hamilton," Monroe started with a knowing smirk, clutching a manila folder close to his chest. "Is a threat to the Republican Party." 

"And this is news to me, how?" Thomas asked, unimpressed, as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

"We can ruin him—I have it all in this folder," Monroe said, tone full of childish glee, pushing the folder in his direction. "The only copy of texts between Hamilton and a Mrs. Maria Reynolds. The man was having an affair with her for months with her husband's knowing consent."

Thomas blinked and grabbed the offered papers stiffly, praying to any higher being that Monroe was lying, that he was just playing an elaborate prank on him, but from the satisfied way Monroe was gazing at him he doubted it. And sure enough, the evidence was near damning, screenshots of texts with times and places, not at all subtle in their intention. 

The texts got more explicit as Thomas read on, filled with empty promises of lust and reassurance. The words sounded hollow to his ears, foreign and stiff and lacking the finesse he knew Hamilton possessed. Inexplicably, he felt fury start to curl in his chest, making him feel equal parts loathing and disgust towards Hamilton, who should have _known_ better, who should have _thought_ about what he was doing before deciding to stick his dick in the nearest—

Thomas froze, thoughts coming to a sudden halt. It all made sense. 

All the interactions between Eliza and Hamilton clicked like he got the final, missing piece of the puzzle. All the hesitant touches, the way Eliza was wary around Hamilton, the apologetic glances Hamilton kept shooting her when he thought no one was looking—Eliza knew about the affair. Eliza knew what Hamilton had done, and if Thomas read their recent interactions correctly, Eliza forgave him. Somehow, the fact only served to fuel his rage. 

He forced his hands to unclench around the papers, which wrinkled under his grip. Thomas could hear Monroe still speaking, no doubt talking about how to circulate rumors and blackmail Hamilton, but it all sounded garbled and distinct like he was underwater. 

He couldn't let anyone know for Eliza's sake. She didn't deserve to become another senseless casualty in their game for power. 

"—mobilize the story and talk to our contacts in the media, we can get it in by the morning cycle," Monroe continued. Thomas blinked, mind whirling with excuses and lies to keep Monroe off the story as he shoved down his building panic. "I thought you could break the story since you're—" 

"How did you get these texts?" Thomas interrupted. "Or how can you verify that they're real? If we release this to the press and it was all a hoax, we'll discredit ourselves."

Monroe frowned. "The texts were provided to me by her husband after his numerous threats of extortion failed. Supplying him the money he wanted was more than easy."

Thomas sighed in relief and rubbed at his closed eyelids briefly, thankful that Hamilton was at least had some measure of intelligence. "And if Reynolds was so desperate for money, how can we be sure that he didn't simply fabricate the affair and the messages?" he challenged. 

"Thomas, this is our chance to sully his—"

"Our party can't afford to risk being seen as petty opportunists," Thomas argued. Triumph bloomed in his chest at the resigned expression on Monroe's face. "Will you risk losing votes over a rumor? I've heard you have a tough election coming up, it'll be a real shame if you lost your senate seat."

The threat was left unsaid, but the message was clear. The walls had ears in the capital and there were always little murmurs and mutters of what Thomas did to those he deemed dangerous enough to destroy, people whose political careers were annihilated and left in obscurity. In actuality, that was all James' doing, but he wasn't above using rumors to his advantage.

Monroe paused and cleared his throat, eyes downcast. "The decision is up to you," he decided. 

"I'll keep the copy of the texts for safekeeping and if time comes, we'll have the information to our disposal," Thomas said dismissively, tucking the folder underneath his arm and heading out the door.

He left Monroe's office in a daze, a numbing chill settling over him. Once, he would have used the news of Hamilton's affair to his own advantage, twisted and distorted the information so throughly that Washington would be forced to fire Hamilton. But now he knew Eliza, and he knew that she deserved far better than to get entangled in Hamilton's affair. 

"Jefferson," a voice snapped, breaking him out of his reverie. Thomas froze, hands tightening into fists at his sides, and glanced up. Hamilton scowled, an irritated expression crossing his face. "Next time tell your secretary to let me in."

"Sorry, sir, I tried to kick him out, but Secretary Hamilton is persistent," Sally interrupted, bursting in the room with a strained smile. Tendrils of hair escaped her bun and her normally immaculate outfit was rumpled as if she personally tried to kick Hamilton out. "If you like, sir, I'll call security and have the secretary escorted out." 

Thomas could feel his rage building again, slow and sure, at the sight of Hamilton. "You can leave us alone, Sally," he dismissed. His eyes rested solely on Hamilton, the air between them thick with tension. 

Either Sally felt that his anger was steadily bubbling over or maybe she thought she would be forced to mediate another one of their endless debates, but she nodded once, curt, and closed the door behind her with a small thud. 

The sound of Thomas' clock echoed in the room. Hamilton smirked once they were alone, sultry and impish and too confident for a man whose life was almost ruined. "A promise is promise, Jefferson, unless you're not—"

"Shut up," Thomas said coolly. 

"—a man of honor, which I—"

"Hamilton!" Thomas snapped, harsh and sharp. Hamilton's mouth snapped shut, and Thomas forced himself to count to ten like Eliza suggested to keep his fury at bay, "I know." 

Hamilton's brows knitted together, lips pursing together in confusion. "You're going to be more specific, Thomas, unless this is another game—"

"I know about your affair," Thomas spit, chuckling bitterly. "About Maria and James Reynolds, about how you cheated on Eliza." 

There was a heavy pause where Hamilton stood, mouth opening and closing like he meant to speak, but no words came out. Thomas offered him the folder, silently basking in the way Hamilton's hands trembled when he reached for the offending papers. 

"Who told you?"

"James Reynolds sold you out to Monroe," Thomas replied stiffly. Hamilton's eyes squeezed shut, body shaking imperceptible and for a moment, Thomas thought he was on a verge of an anxiety attack. He pointed to the folder in Hamilton's hands. "That was the proof—screenshots of text messages between you and Maria."

His eyes snapped open to stare at the folder, face blanching as he flipped through the stack of papers. His lips moved to form unspoken words, gradually becoming faster and faster until the folder was left forgotten on his desk in his madness. Thomas watched wearily while Hamilton paced the space of his office like a man possessed, completely ignoring him. 

"I have to publish a response," Hamilton muttered under his breath. An expression of disbelief grew on Thomas' face while Hamilton's voice grew louder with every word and every foolish idea. "Monroe has the upper hand, but if I confess to the affair before he can publish—" 

"What about Eliza?" Thomas questioned. "How will that reflect on her?"

Hamilton huffed, glancing at him like he was a particularly foolish child. "Don't you see, Jefferson?" he scoffed. "We are talking about my political career—my legacy—something bigger than petty gossip about my personal affairs." 

Thomas froze. Every feeling of empathy, every bit of him that ever felt sympathy for the man in front of him, disappeared with that admission. "It's not being leaked," Thomas said, monotone. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears, robotic and empty. "I have the only copies."

Hamilton stopped pacing all at once, body sagging in relief. "Thank you."

"I'm not doing it for you," Thomas interjected hotly, glaring at the man. And it was true, the political favor he would gain for publishing Hamilton's affair far outweighed the possible backlash. "I'm doing this for Eliza." 

Hamilton paused to consider him. "Why do you care, Thomas?" 

"How could you ever cheat on Eliza?" Thomas retorted with a sneer. The words came out venomous and cold. "Wasn't she enough?" 

Hamilton's shoulders fell, an expression of defeat crossing his face. Neither of them replied. 

*

_Thomas Jefferson: I know what Alexander did_  
_Thomas Jefferson: I have the documents to prove it_  
_Thomas Jefferson: What do you want me to do with them?_

Thomas set his phone down, ignoring the uneasiness settling in the pit of his stomach. He sat on his couch, trying vainly to force his body to relax, eyes were transfixed on the fireplace. The dwindling flames curled around the burning logs until only ashes remained in their place. There was beauty in the destruction, he supposed, in the way that the fire lit up the room in warm shades of reds and oranges and yellows. 

He couldn't go back to the Hamilton's house, not after watching how Alexander threw Eliza aside without an ounce of regret. It almost seemed poetic now that Eliza, the same person who Alexander so easily dismissed, had the power to determine his fate.

_Eliza Schuyler: Burn it_

Thomas glanced at the folder, which was perched on the very edge of his coffee table. In a fluid movement, he reached for the papers, grasping it in his hands while he itched closer to the fireplace. The flames were starting to die out, but the fire still burned bright, the faint light illuminating the room and casting long shadows across of the walls. 

And without another thought, Thomas threw the folder into the fireplace; he watched it burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc I'm all about educating the ppl here are some fun facts about the reynolds pamphlet: 
> 
> in summary, monroe did actually have the letters and various documents between hamilton and the reynolds bc he conducted an investigation (with this other guy named muhlenberg) on the possibility of hamilton's corruption. monroe later sent those documents to tjeffs, who started spreading rumors about the affair years afterwards. later a journalist, callender, wrote his own series of pamphlets (that included Hamilton/Reynolds personal letters), which confirmed the rumors and also accused hamilton of being corrupt. hamilton's (ninety-five paged) reynolds pamphlet was a response to callender's accusations of corruption. 
> 
> tl;dr tjeffs was a dick (unsurprisingly) and monroe can't keep his shit together 
> 
> in response to the info being leaked, hamilton basically called out monroe. monroe got pissed and challenged hamilton to a duel in response but it was called off later.
> 
> the irony: who stopped the duel? burr.
> 
> on a side note, I'm pretty sure (call me out if I'm wrong) that monroe & tjeffs & madison were all bros irl to at least some extent but idk.


End file.
